


The Souls Taken

by culticmyexecution



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Illustrated, Kidnapping, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culticmyexecution/pseuds/culticmyexecution
Summary: An old work of me and my friend about how, investigating a case, a boy with a demon met a demon and his angel, and together they had to find out what exactly was happening at the Thames' shores.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We started writing it in 2014, so the actions in this fic take place before everything that's been happening since June of 2017 started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating the upload dates, for I've edited the text a bit.

_First of all, corporal Alan Sowerberry had never claimed to be a perfect soldier. Or even a good one, to be honest. And he wasn't ashamed of it, not at all._

The corporal yawned, trying not to fall asleep. He wasn’t allowed to do that during the watch. Not as if anything could have happened, but colonel Peter Walter, that proud-stomached bastard, who had arrived to the Grain Tower recently, was always ready to get a few lazybones discharged.

_Of course, he didn't choose the way to live. It always happens to the people of his kind._

It's usually cold at such time of the year, especially on the seaside, and especially at night. The corporal clenched his fists near his face and exhaled, trying to warm them by his breath.

 _Born as the fourth son in his family, he wasn't as brilliant as his brothers, and that's why young Alan was made join the army. His departure was quite a relief for his family, because he was not only an extremely_ _ordinary_ _young man, he was also a pretty... problematic one.  Always upset, you know, and always feeling miserable because of his mighty brothers._

“Hate this place,” he muttered angrily. “And I don't get why I’m the only one who's on the watch tonight. Maybe Lavender’s right, and I'd better transfer t’somewhere else?”

_After seven years spent on the East Indian Company as a member of the Royal Artillery, he returned to Great Britain and met that girl, Lavender. And truly she was just as the flower she’s named after - beautiful and wild._

He took her latest letter from his pocket and tried to read something in the darkness, but didn’t succeed at all. The only lantern he owned suddenly disappeared right before his watch, so the territory all around him was lit only by the moon.

“Oi, corp’ral Sowerberry!’’ he heard a pretty loud voice in the distance and turned around.

Personal servant of the colonel Walter, Samuel (or Saarhmui, as he used to be called in India), was waving to him from the opposite wall of the fortress with a lantern in his hand.

Alan had known Samuel for a pretty long time, as they served together during the East Indian Company. That little idiot was a nice boy, but was very annoying in his usual optimistic mood and an incredible manner of speaking which contained of the horrible mix of different accents, from Indian to Scottish. But at such a lonely night Alan actually was glad to have a company, especially if the company was with the lantern (and with a box of matches to light a cigarette, what’s more important). Maybe he even would be persuasive enough to ask Samuel to give him all of that before going to bed.

“Don’t yell so loudly, Samuel, or you’ll wake everybody up,” he said calmly. “How do you do, little princess?” the corporal asked when the boy joined him on his part of the wall, smiling as cheerful as his frozen face could allow.

He used to call the boy “little princess” when the latter was very young and wore those strange Indian unisex clothes (actually, Samuel wasn’t able to get rid of this little habit completely, as far as the corporal was concerned, and allowed himself to change formal clothes to the national on his day offs).

“Thaaank you, corp’ral, verrry nice,” the boy answered, pronouncing every letter in an impossibly weird way. "An' ya?"

The corporal didn't answer anything out loud, but the look he gave to the boy's breast-pocket was quite easy to understand. Sam realized everything in a second and gave Alan the matchbox.

“Thanks, you’re my hero!” the corporal exclaimed while trying to light a cigarette with slightly shaky hands, “I forgot the matches in the kitchen, damn my memory.”

One match lit up, but instantly went out. The corporal sighed in irritation and threw the match away, then took another one. Samuel giggled when that one, and the next one, and then the other one did the same. It was like someone invisible stood next to Alan and enjoyed extinguishing the matches he was hopelessly trying to light.

“Let me help you, corp’ral,” Sam said, with the extremely long and strong “L” in the beginning. He wasn’t successful, too, and wasted five more matches.

“Such bad matches you have ‘ere, little princess,” the corporal grunted, “must be wet or something.”

_However, the matches were perfectly fine._

“Use the lantern, maybe?” the corporal asked rhetorically before bending in order to take the lantern Sam had brought. It went out immediately. “What the hell?”

“The world's trying to say that smoking is bad,” Sam laughed.

“Watch the way you talk.”

The corporal sighed and threw the cigarette away. He was watching it falling from height of four floors when he heard a sweet whisper. Then it transformed into a singing voice, and it was so comforting, so soft, that he closed his eyes and smiled.

He started mumbling some song he had never known, simply copying what he heard from a stunningly beautiful woman he saw before his eyes.

He turned around and entered the tower, ignoring the Indian boy.

“Corp'ral?” Sam asked worriedly.

And then he heard the whisper, too, and all of a sudden fell on his knees, moaning. It felt as if he was blessed by all the possible gods of the world. He shivered, feeling a gentle hand touching his chin. It asked him to get up, to go, to enjoy all the pleasures of the heaven he deserved to go to, where he would find a land free of wars, of cold English snobs, where the girl he had fallen in love with waited, where his parents were happy… Samuel obeyed.

_The Grain Tower had become dark._

_And, after a while, it was empty._


	2. The Undertaker's Shop

 

Crowley woke up. He didn't know why at that time and not another but he was quite humble about it. He, for a start, had no idea _when_ he woke up. It was dark, and under his head there was a soft pillow, and the air smelled familiar. Crowley pushed the darkness, which turned out rather heavy but he tensed his stiff muscles and moved the lid, letting dim light in. He sat, yawning and trying to stretch his hands that felt not just stiff, but almost petrous, and hurt. After a minute of careful and thorough stretching Crowley stood up, tottered, and made a step out of a beautifully designed coffin.

There was light coming through the dark matte window glass, which helped Crowley understand that… No. It actually didn’t help at all. He sighed and decided to take a look around instead of trying to guess.

“Obviously, that twonk has a calendar,” he thought. And then he remembered the ‘twonk’ better. “I hope so…”

There was no calendar in the room, only pine boxes and resembling ritual stuff, and a kettle. Crowley sighed again and put the kettle on a tiny stove, sat in an old creaking chair and started looking through drawers of the table. The first thing he found was an advertisement of a bookshop.

“Oh, so he’s actually done the ads,” Crowley said, taking a closer look. There was a name, an address, a picture of a book and a date of publishing of the leaflet. Or maybe a fake date of establishment, Crowley thought, or of renovation, it didn't matter. 1855, the date read, which showed Crowley that he had slept for at least fifty years. There was also a manually written word, ‘ethereal,’ which made Crowley snort. “Are you serious? Purple ink? It’s been so many years, and you still have no taste… well, both of you.”

He made some tea, closed his eyes and relaxed, his index pitter-pattering on the point where the address of the bookstore was. The tea was terrible, and there was an old melody playing outside. “Yeah, you must be sitting there and playing John Bull now,” he said to an imaginary interlocutor. He didn't wait for an answer. However, there was one. It was a screech of a door. Crowley revealed his eyes lazily.

“...and I tell you, Sebastian, Lau was just…" it was an infant voice of a boy. "Who _the hell_ are _you_?”

A child and a tall man entered the room, and the child’s clothes reminded Crowley of his own style in 1805. The boy was short, had a top hat and a walking stick, and his right eye was covered with an eye-patch. The tall man… Crowley made a wry face.

“Hi.”

“You,” said the tall man, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

Crowley blinked and smiled. “Visiting an old friend of mine.”

“Do you know him, Sebastian?”

“I wish I didn’t, young master. You’re still so miserable, _Crawly_.”

“And you haven’t changed, as arrogant as always. Do you still waste your time on Faustian bargains, _Sebastian_?”

“And are you still just an average employee having nothing left from your first success in Eden?”

Crowley wanted to answer but the boy interfered, taking a seat on one of the coffins. “You know Undertaker, don’t you?”

“I do. He’s a nice acquaintance. Always ready to provide you with a bed in a quiet place.”

“I’m not interested in _that._ We’re looking for him particularly, to ask something. Do you know where he is?”

“Gone on a bat maybe?” Crowley shrugged and took a sip of tea.

“Sure he has. I know this, he has disappeared and is doing some things that are outlaw. More specific, can you be?” said the boy through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know. No idea. Who are you, by the way? What made him,” he moved his head, pointing at Sebastian, and took another sip, “sign a contract with such an haughty child?”

“None of your business, you...” the boy glared at Sebastian. “Who is this brat?”

“A demon of a very low rank, my lord. He isn’t worth a minute of your time.”

“I see. You, filthy creature, is there _anything_ useful you know?”

“Didn’t your parentsss teach you how to ssspeak to sssomeone older than you?” Crowley hissed and put the mug on the table.

“You…” the boy groaned, almost ready to jump on Crowley and tear the demon’s hair with his bare hands. “Sebastian!”

“Okay, okay,” Crowley got up and rushed towards the exit, not letting the boy finish, “I can handle this myself, thank you very much for your hospitality.”

He was passing by when the boy saw his face in details and shuddered. The demon was handsome but his yellow sclera with narrow serpentine pupils made the boy be irrationally afraid and hold his breath. He couldn’t even speak a word.

“Oh, and Na… Er. _Sebastian_ ,” Crowley gibbered, “teach this boy good manners, please. And send greetings and gratitudes to Undertaker when find him. Ciao,” and, before the boy, who had finally unwound, could repeat his order, Crowley ran out of the Undertaker’s shop, slamming the door.

“Who was that, exactly?” the boy asked.

“Nothing but a filthy snake who doesn’t even bother to cover his eyes properly. I hope he didn’t frighten you, young master.”

“Don’t be such an idiot, of course he did not. Come on, let’s get what we came here for, and let’s hope that none of your stupid relatives will interrupt us this time,” the boy jumped off the coffin he was sitting on, realizing perfectly that his observation about Sebastian being related to the stranger wasn’t unnoticed.

“We are not... _relatives,_ young master,” Sebastian winced.

“No, by the human standards, you are probably not. But the way you speak to each other reminded me of ridiculous arguments my uncles used to have,” the boy grunted sardonically. "And, what’s more important, you both disgust me in the same way, as you both are the creatures of the darkness.”

“Oh, what an impolite thing to say, my lord, especially for Her Majesty's Watchdog!” Sebastian said with a little smile, while his young master was walking through the room and looking for some clues about Undertaker’s dislocation. “As the royal watchdog, you are the one who is supposed to wander in the darkness until the very end.”

“I believe 'the very end' will be only the beginning of wandering in the darkness,” the boy responded calmly, not looking at Sebastian while opening each and every coffin in the shop one by one, “and, whether you like it or not, you have the same nature as that man, Crawly, does. And in my eyes it makes you two relatives.”

Sebastian was silent, watching his master searching the room.

“I guess, as the cognate of this… extremely suspicious stranger, or _the relative of him,_ if you wish _,_ the first thing I would check is the brochure he was reading, isn’t it?” Sebastian asked politely after half a minute, and took the advertisement from the table.

“Don’t think that I forgot about it, Sebastian,” the boy grumbled a little bit angrier than he should have. “I was just… looking for other evidences or clues.”

“Of course, young master,” the butler said and gave the piece of paper to the boy. “Anyway, it’s nothing, but a simple adv—”

“Here, in the corner,” the boy interrupted him. “Looks like the Undertaker’s handwriting! Three… no, not three. E… eth… Darn, it’s too illegible!”

Sebastian sighed.

“Ethereal, it says. It doesn't make a lot of sense, and may I say, my lord, that for me it doesn't seem like a very good clue to follow.”

“And _for me_ it seems like Lau is occasionally capable of a good hunch. Why would Undertaker keep it and write anything like that? It says 1855, this paper is old, and he had kept it for all that time. Or that yellow-eyed bastard had this one, maybe it’s his. And he left it here, didn't take it with him, so we can follow. There has to be something with this paper. The brat is being more useful that I thought. Perhaps, I should hire him?”

“You may, if you wish to. But I strongly doubt — because your soul belongs to me — that he’ll agree to work for you just for the money of the mortals. And even if he does… well, considering his controversial personality and the fact that the only activity he seems to be capable of is leaving things on a table, such collaboration may be not as pleasant as you think.”

“Do you really think I may find any collaboration with a demon _pleasant?_ ”

“As your butler, I sincerely hope that at least one particular collaboration with one particular demon you find — if not pleasant — comfortable for you,” the smile on Sebastian’s lips became very vicious as he spoke. The boy gasped indignantly.

“Then, for a demon, you are pretty naïve,” he said darkly. “Come on, let’s go for a little walk to this place. I wonder what we will find there. Or whom. Speaking of which, Sebastian...”

“Young master?”

“If it is a trap… protect me and kill them all.”

"Yes, my lord, as usually."

They left the shop, and _now_ it was empty indeed.


	3. Aziraphale's Shop

 

"Ah, 's been such a long time," Crowley drained his glass of wine in one gulp and looked at Aziraphale. His bright yellow eyes were lustrous, pince-nez was hung on a golden chain. "And 's nineteen eighty nine already… Eighty four years of slumber, you know."

The angel for some reason had already been quite drunk when Crowley came to the bookstore. Drunk, sensitive — he couldn’t help but hug the demon — and dressed up, Crowley made a guess according to what he had seen in the street, with a delay of forty years or so. He was always like that, Crowley thought with a little smile.

"You d-don't even need it," Aziraphale frowned, somewhy unable to stop looking at Crowley's tie. "You… Uh, how can you waste your time on sleeping, I don'understand it."

"Er, shut up. A century, pfft, what's a century?"

"Four hun… wait wait,” cleared his throat, “human generations."

Aziraphale didn't want to talk much, he preferred drinking. He sat on the floor in the corner of the storeroom of his shop, and Crowley half-lied, his head leaning on Aziraphale's ribs and his legs lifted and leaning on a broken chair's back. It was dim in the room, everything covered with cobwebs. There was also a row of empty bottles of wine nearby Crowley. The angel and the demon didn’t waste time.

Above and in front of them there were bookshelves with stuff left unsorted by the owner. Endless books, letters, boxes, notebooks seemed oppressive to Crowley but he didn’t say anything about that. Everything was covered with dust and — it was Crowley's second thought — the angel's… he didn't know how to express this in words. He could only say, it was all covered with Aziraphale. The presence of the angel in the place was almost palpable.

"Human, y'see. They don'ave time at all. And we do, so why can't I spend eighty years on sleepin’? If I have time. As a typical demon. Oh. I've met… Er. Met a guy ‘f ours today. With a bargain. A contract y'know?"

Aziraphale thought a bit, frowning more and more with every passing second. Then he poured a glassful of wine and took a long sip, still concerned.

"Do you still d-do that?"

"Some old-fashioned arses like… like dat one do. They waste a lifespan of a pers’n to eat a soul. Just one. They're, like, outsiders. I think heads just pity 'em and let ‘em be uncontrolled.”

“They’re not t’be pitied. Their victims are.”

“Nooooo, nononono. No. They’re not. They deserve it mostly. They _want_ a contract and _seek_ for it. They say, y’know, that it’s only possible to summon such demon if you lose your faith in, um, yer boss. You should be reeeeally desperate, and I think it’s enough to have yer soul in our lists. If we have lists. I donnow. So, if you lose, er, sooooo much faith, you’re done even if you don’succeed in summonin’ a demon. The Decalogue. And those demons… spending so much time’n’getting such a tiny reward, isn’t it horrible? And they also get addicted to devouring souls, and they can starve to death. The only dumber way for a demon to die is to be doused in holy water. So they’re in a worse position than, for example, I’m in. But, believe it 'r not, they find it _entertaining.”_

“Oh yes what can be more entertaining than swallowin’ somebody’s mind-feelings-ideas-dreams-and... darn, even memories l-like some sort of snack?” Aziraphale asked displeasingly and took another sip of wine, staring at Crowley's white lace tie which lied on the angel’s knees, unleashed recently. It wasn’t like he adored it, no. There was a question in his mind, _“Seriously, how can it be so white? It’s been almost eighty five years...”_

“I’ve almost forgotten what a bore you are. It’s not ’bout eating a soul, ’m not sure if it differs much from you eating a devilled egg. It’s about the experience they say. But why to suffer when you can just spend time up heeere like ’ve done since the Beginning?” the last phrase was more of thinking out loud than a question to Aziraphale. Still, the angel didn’t reply and didn’t even look at Crowley.

“Hey you,” the demon waved his hand in front of Aziraphale's face, making him shudder and glance at Crowley. The blue eyes were unable to focus at first, but then Aziraphale nodded to show he was ready to listen. “That’s what we, demons, do, hellooo! Eatin’ Christian babies. Spoilin’ human beings. Seducin’ mortal women...”

“Sleeping for centuries, while others’re working hard, huh?”

Aziraphale forgot about the glass and snatched a bottle from Crowley’s hands, drinking right from the neck. Crowley whined.

“Don’t be so greedy, gimme that,” he reached out and grabbed the bottle. Took a gulp and made a strange sound which resembled a meow, then spoke. “Err. Sometimes. But that’s not important ‘n dis case. Anyway, do you seriously call opening the small bookshop and drinking wine there on yer own “working hard”? For me it seems like you have also decided to have holi… days… century. Whatever.”

“‘ts not that easy! An… And... Lots of weird things happen in London, dear boy. Serial killers. People missin’. Reapers sneakin’ here and there. The Authorities also… oi… nevermind. I shouldn’t complain. Not to… umwellyouknow.”

“Ohhhh, trade secrets? Don’ worry, _they_ don’ care. Nobody needs yer secrets down there.”

“I’m notquitesure… but, ugh, okay. Some serious business is ‘bout to begin. And your awakening… I’m afraid it’s also a s… s… oh my, a sign. And not a good one.”

“Ugh you arse. I didn’ let you finish that first bottle alone, 'f course a bad sign,” Crowley was mimicking Aziraphale’s manner of speaking when they both heard a wind chime clinking.

“Someone’s coming,” Aziraphale got up from the floor, staggering, and went right to the main hall, leaving Crowley in the storeroom. He had to hold a wall to be able to stand normally.

“Why didn’ ya close the shop?” Crowley moaned, lying down.

“You wouldn’ be able to enter too then, don' forget,” said the angel loudly enough to make Crowley hear, and then turned to the interlopers. He took a deep breath even though he didn’t need to. “May I help you sir?” he asked a tall handsome man, trying very hard to speak clearly. It was quite difficult.

“Yes,” was a sudden answer from the mouth of a child who came with the man. The boy gave Aziraphale a familiar sheet of paper. Before taking it, Aziraphale quickly had dealt with the alcohol in his blood as it was a shame to greet clients being so drunk. “I hope you know something about this.”

Aziraphale glanced at the paper.

“Umm…” he cleared his throat, “yes, this is the old advertisement I made. I was very young when I inherited this shop, and I used to distribute such pieces of paper all over London to attract visitors. It didn’t help much… For now, I have a small amount of loyal clients, and I’m absolutely satisfied by them, so I don’t need any of a kind, thank you, you may keep it.”

He handed the piece of paper back to the boy who, though, didn’t take it.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at him suspiciously. “This is truly important. Take a closer look, please.”

“I-I don’t understand, young mister, what you want me to… ah.”

The small handwritten word in the left corner wasn’t very noticeable. Aziraphale thought deeply. It looked familiar. Certainly, he thought. That mad Reaper, who used to run the shop in Mayfair and had never introduced himself other than Undertaker… the friend of Crowley. Of course. It’s always about Crowley.

“ _‘Ah?’_ Does it mean you recognize this?” the boy asked again. For such an innocent-looking child he sounded too high-and-mighty. And the man behind him… there was something about him. Something extremely familiar. Something dark.

“I’m sorry, I just… what? Oh. No. No, I don’t recognize this. But, if you are interested in ethers… or chemistry in general for your studying, I’m sure I can find something for you and your teacher.”

While speaking, Aziraphale was heading to the bookshelves with scientific literature, but was stopped by a hand in a white glove put on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, but my master is here not for shopping,” at that moment the tall man looked by no means as handsome as he used to, “we need information, and I believe _you_ have it."

And then Aziraphale got it.

“I’m afraid it is not in my powers to tell you anything.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” the child sighed unhappily, “because the reason why I ask is not just curiosity. This brochure… I’ve found it in the shop of the good old friend of my father. My parents are dead… and now this man is missing, too. I worry about him, so I was wondering where he cou…”

“AZIRAPHALE! WE'RE OUT OF WINE!” Crowley yelled from the storeroom, not really in time. Aziraphale was almost ready to tell the poor child with the sad blue eye everything, even though he had come with the demon to ask some questions about the Reaper. Quite suspicious, but Aziraphale was about to believe it wasn't so bad.

“The voice…” the boy murmured, “is that…”

“Oh, so this is why I felt that awful smell again…” said the man — _the demon_ — when Crowley appeared on the doorstep, wambling.

“Azi... ohhh,” Crowley saw the two guests and scowled, “Brilliant. Jus’ fuckinbrilliant!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted indignantly. “How can you…”

“Ah, don’ screech like a wife,” he sent Aziraphale an angry look and made his blood pure instantly. “Believe me, this boy has heard worse things. Moreover, he himself must have said something worse ’cause he’s a haughty bugger.”

“I’m really sorry for my... friend. He’s drunk, and he didn’t mean to offend you. Crowley,” Aziraphale turned to him, “could you please be nice and leave my guests alone? I can handle this myself.”

“I'm not drunk anymore, don't you see?” the demon snapped.

“Alcohol? How pathetic,” other demon smiled pitifully. “You are such a disgrace, _Crawly_.”

“Shut your damn mouth, you scum!”

“Even if you know each other, could you _please_ leave my shop or at least not swear in the presence of a young gentleman?” words said by Aziraphale were totally ignored by two men who were glaring at each other. The boy sighed and sat on a chair in the corner, ready to listen but not to intervene.

“Is this the way you talk to someone who’s higher in the hierarchy? Bad, bad indeed.”

“Who cares about the hierarchy nowadays? Only such tasteless old believers as you, Sebastian, or however you're named now.”

“Many of us do, serpent. You’re almost the only careless one.”

Crowley hissed, “get out of here, ssscoundrel, and take your ‘master’,” he used the air quotes, “with you. Neither me nor Aziraphale are going to tell you anything.”

“Aziraphale? Huh,” Sebastian looked at Aziraphale with overt curiosity. “So this is the second smell. I wasn’t sure at first. Having friends from the opposite side?”

“Crowley is right, mister… Sebastian. I am not intended to tell someone like you anything.”

“Why do you trust someone like this serpent and think I am worse than he is? This is hypocrisy. We both are dark creatures, and are dark in the same way.”

“Oh, how wrong you are. Don't compare Crowley and yourself. He would not allow himself a Faustian contract. Maybe it makes him a bad demon, yes. But by human standards, he is _better_ than you.”

“Tsk, what a thing for an angel to say. What do you know about human standards?”

“So _he really is_ an angel!” the boy said with a snicker, not anymore paying attention to his butler and Crowley, “this investigation is getting more and more interesting. What is your name, again?”

“Aziraphale. And could you please…”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale. I’m earl Ciel Phantomhive, and this is my butler, Sebastian Michaelis. And, to be honest, I’m here because of the business Her Majesty asked me to deal with, not only because I’m looking for Undertaker.”

“ _Michaelis?_ What a great choice!” Crowley chuckled, “and seriously, Her Majesty? Woman, again? This century is horrible, Aziraphale!”

Still not paying attention to Crowley, Ciel stood up and extended his ungloved hand for a handshake to Aziraphale. The angel had nothing left but to accept, but the moment he touched his skin the boy shuddered. Ciel’s hand flinched, quivering.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale said worriedly.

“Young master,” in a split second Sebastian was nearby Ciel. He took the boy's hand and examined it quickly. Gentle skin reddened a bit where the angel’s fingers had brushed it. “Don’t you dare touch him,” he said to Aziraphale, his eyes turning red and his pupils narrowing, “don’t you ever dare touch him again or I will kill you as violently as it’s even possible.”

“Shall I bring holy water or will you calm down?” Crowley said in a singsong and then added sarcastically, seeing Aziraphale’s dark look, ”Please?”

“I-I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry! Did you know this would happen?” Aziraphale looked at both demons, and they both shook their heads. None of them had known. Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment, and his irises became dark-golden again.

“Don’t worry, Aziraphale, I’m perfectly fine. I was a fool. I should’ve foreseen this,” the child said vigorously, freeing his hand from Sebastian’s grip. “There were burns in my life I will never forget, and this is not one of them. But still… that was interesting. I wonder if your graze has the same impact on the demons.”

“It doessss not,” Crowley hissed. “Now go already. We won’t tell you anything. I haven’t seen Undertaker for a pretty long time. I saw him last time in 1832, and Aziraphale just knows we are acquaintances.”

But Aziraphale felt really guilty. “Why exactly are you looking for Undertaker?” he asked softly, “I wish I could help... “

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.”

“Then he won’t tell you anything, why don’t you get it?” Crowley interrupted.

“Let him speak for himself,” Ciel spat.

“I’m afraid he is right. I do not know if your business is connected with something I know. If I do, I'll try to help you,” the angel’s voice was mirthless and quiet. He didn’t want to upset the child, and the inevitability of the situation set his teeth on edge. He couldn’t talk about what had happened even to Crowley, his only friend, not to mention the child he had just met and who had a bargain with a demon. Actually he had got _advice_ to keep silent about that. However, he truly wanted to help the boy.

“This is ridiculous. Why would I tell you the secrets of the Queen then? I’m not sure whether you have any information of Undertaker or not.”

“I don’t. I mean, I do, but it is not certainly connected to Undertaker. And it isn’t the thing I can tell the demon.”

“But _I’m not_ a demon. I’m a _human_. And I keep my demon tied with the covenant. He won’t do anything without my permission. That means he won't contact any of his kind to tell your secrets until I ask him to, and I certainly won’t. You have my promise.”

"You are the… Queen's Watchdog, right?"

"Yes,” Ciel looked surprised. “How do you know?”

“Just a second-guess. Your family used to be… Oh! I‘m sorry, it’s a bad time to… Sorry,” Aziraphale faltered.

“Don’t worry, this doesn’t matter. I’m here not to be caressed, I’m just in need of information.”

“Aziraphale? Don’t tell him anything. We can't trust them and their word. I have no intention to fight but if you don’t kick them outta here, I swear, I’ll do that. What can this two-faced child even...”

“This two-faced child is the earl, firstly, the Queen’s Watchdog, secondly. And I want to remind you, demon, that it is none of _your_ business…” young Phantomhive started with his teeth clenched but was interrupted by the angel who raised his hand to draw attention.

“I’m done with this arguing, gentlemen. Listen carefully, my dear boy,” he ignored Ciel’s facial expression, “and command your butler to hold his tongue, because this is the thing I should not be telling anyone of you. One of us — the other angel, the strong one — is gone. Fallen, I suppose. Not dead, for certain, but somehow he disappeared a few weeks ago without any sign. And last Friday… well, it sounds ridiculous, but I swear I felt _someone’s_ presence nearby, here in London, maybe even in Soho. Others detected it too, and they told me to keep silent, but now… now I see. If Undertaker’s missing… he probably has something to do with it. He is a mad Reaper, and a wicked one, for sure. We know he's been involved in something soul-related before.”

“And you didn’t tell me!” Crowley resented, “A possible alliance of Undertaker—… the angel—… this _is_ a serious issue to deal with! And—…”

“Crowley, stop. My hands are always slightly tied when it is about giving you information, you know it. And this time I was given an order.”

“What kind of an angel exactly?” Sebastian suddenly insisted.

Aziraphale hesitated but after a couple seconds sighed and looked sadly at Ciel. “A cherub. I'm afraid your butler may be… not strong enough to defeat him.”

“A cherub… Um,” Crowley winced. “Just like you in the olden days?”

“Exactly.”

“Does this cherub have special powers?” the boy asked with something on his mind, “and does he have any reason to kidnap people? I’m grateful for your cooperation, by the way, Aziraphale, and so is Her Majesty. I realize now why you didn’t want to talk about that, and I appreciate your help.”

“Look, Aziraphale, now he’s playin’ nice,” Crowley said with an amused look on his face.  
  
"I may play a bad guy if you wish, you vermin," was the sharp answer.

“I have no idea what he is capable of… I don’t remember what being a cherub used to be. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can help you with. But… do I understand it right? People are being kidnapped?”

“There was _an incident_ three days ago. Fortress full of soldiers. None of them was found in the morning. I can’t provide you with any further information, but I might say it wasn’t a simple day off. It seems like they just… disappeared. And _please,_ ” lord Phantomhive turned to Crowley, “get us rid of your hilarious comments. I know you might have some.”

Surprisingly Crowley didn’t say anything to this and just snorted with a wry face.

“Well, I guess now we have something to work with,” Sebastian was obviously satisfied, despite the sardonic look he had been sending Crowley and Aziraphale for quite much time, “but I have no idea what we should say to the Queen, my lord.”

“I’ll figure something out. At least now we have someone else to suspect. Who would’ve thought we would get help from _an angel_ , huh?” Ciel asked rhetorically and smiled politely to Aziraphale and even to Crowley, who seemed to calm down a little bit, “once again, I thank you for your help, Aziraphale. It wasn’t easy, but… I’m glad we got along. And now you have to excuse me and my butler. We have some more business to deal with.”

“Not so fast, humpty-dumpty”, Crowley said to Ciel, looking at Aziraphale who seemed pretty confused by the quick way lord Phantomhive accepted the idea of cherub’s fall in the nineteenth century.

“Uhh,” the angel mumbled, “earl Phantomhive, excuse me but you have promised to, err, to order…"

He didn’t even have to finish the sentence. He also wasn’t really capable of it because of his awkwardness. The polite smile vanished from the boy’s face as he gave his butler an imperative look and spoke unhesitatingly.

“Sebastian, this is my order. Whether you are commanded by your authorities or not, you should not tell anyone about what you've heard here or let anyone hear you discussing it with me or these gentlemen.”

Sebastian didn’t seem to be upset by this forbiddance as he never intended to return to the authorities as their spy or servant. Actually, he wasn’t even interested in the neverending confrontation between his side and the angels’. Not then.

He nodded to his master calmly and said, as usual, “Yes, my lord. As you wish.”

“What a nice pet you are, letting his orders overweight the heads' ones,” the other demon wasn’t able to resist the opportunity to rib him, “and you still believe in hierarchy. How hypocritically of you, bravo.”

Sebastian certainly had something to answer, but his master’s reaction was instantaneous.

“Oh, Sebastian, I almost forgot. You must have understood me right _back then_ ,” he said mysteriously, pointing his finger at Crowley with an insidious smile.

Hell of a butler raised his eyebrows in surprise for a second, and then smiled faintly.

"If you'll excuse me," he unexpectedly spoke to Aziraphale but then, after a short polite bow, he slapped Crowley in the face so strong that the yellow-eyed demon stepped back, staggering, and eventually fell. Aziraphale gasped and rushed to his friend, who obviously was ready to tear the child apart after this.

"Don't you ever dare insult my butler," Ciel sputtered, not even looking at him or at startled Aziraphale while moving toward exit, “or even mention my family with your filthy mouth, you piece of slime. As for you, Aziraphale… I’ll send my servants to buy some books for me here when I need some, as my gratitude, and they’ll bring you some alcohol, too, as a present. Something good, not the draff you've been drinking here. And for now — goodbye, gentlemen,” and he left the shop. Sebastian followed him after sending Crowley a victorious look.

“Seriously, did you hear him?! That bastard! I wonder what can make such a miserable little puke make a deal with a marquis,” Crowley yelled in rage and stood up, “Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

“Wh… yes. I’m listening, dear,” was the quiet answer, “calm down, you are not even partly that mad at them, are you? And that boy… he may look supercilious, but… I believe there’s kindness in him, trapped by the demon somewhere deep inside like in some sort of cage.”

“Pfffft, rubbish! That little monster is even more dangerous than his butler. And who knows what they’re up to… this queen stuff… why did you even tell them everything?”

“I was wondering… and I am, still… why did the Queen send them to investigate this? Why does a child do all the dirty work? After all, she has someone like… nevermind. It’s none of your, and none of my business. I did what I did, and you definitely weren’t helpful, so please, hold your jaw and let’s go and get drunk one more time. I’m exhausted by this meeting and I need a drink. Now.”

Aziraphale did look exhausted and, for some reason, anxious and concerned. Crowley didn’t like his expression, not at all, so he decided to change the subject to cheer him up:

“Okay, you pay then. The money I have, I’m afraid, will be considered fake…”

“Then imagine contemporary money as you always used to do,” the angel answered reflectively, still not paying much attention on Crowley.

“I forgot how much you hate to sober up…” the demon tried again with a sly laugh. “C’mon, don’t be so greedy, old friend, and buy your demon a drink. Or two. Or more...”

“I’m not greedy, I just… I mean, seriously, that’s just wasting of good alcohol,” Aziraphale sighed, opening the drawer and taking the key to the entrance door.

“The earl called it draff,” Crowley wried.  “What does a child know about wine?”

“Nothing — Could you please take my coat from the hanger? Thanks — he hasn’t even seen the bottles, and I strongly doubt he can determine what we were drinking simply by the smell of it. Why do we even care? Come on, it’s your turn to pay, there’ll be no excuse. You owe me for all that wine. And I can recall a dinner a century ago, I paid for you… ”

“Aren’t you half-fallen already?” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale who was checking the windows to be closed.

“Don’t you even dare—” the angel started but was interrupted, as usual.

“Okay, okay! Hush,” the yellow-eyed got a few notes out of his pocket and handed them to Aziraphale. “Must be enough. Oh, these clothes…”

“These remind me of the boy,” said the angel with a delicate smile, “I’m afraid you need to change it, nobody wears such these days, except for, maybe, the pretentious scribblers…”

“Ugh, please! Don’t pretend to be a fashion expert or something… and, if you haven’t noticed, I don’t wear shorts like this little b… Phantomhive.”

Aziraphale giggled, “I wish you did.”

“Angel, please! Seriously, don’t sober up this time, you become such a bugger! But you’re right, I really need to change my outfit before going out,” and instantly Crowley was dressed up to the knocker. He put his pince-nez on, and with a complicated move of his hand he created an illusion of normal eyes on it. "What?" he said when he saw Aziraphale's look.

"I don't like how you do this. I prefer, you know, feeling real tissue."

"That's because you've been here for a longer period of time. Humanization or something."

"Is it bad?" asked Aziraphale after locking the door.

"I think it's rather uncomfortable. You have to do more things manually, like you've just locked the door. I would never do anything like that if I could just wish the door to be locked. And I never do, actually."

"But you sleep even though you don't need it. Just like people do."

"Yes, and I eat and drink even though I don't need to. That's different. Those things are pleasant and I don't mind spend some time on a good meal."

“Perhaps all such procedures as shopping are pleasant for me, don’t you think so? I enjoy the process, you know, of checking the doors to be closed, of dusting bookshelves…”

“You don’t actually do the last thing.”

“On rare occasions I do, Crowley! And you... oh my!” he had stopped for a moment, looking at Crowley in shock, “I certainly _do screech like a wife!"_

“I told you so," the demon shrugged, trying not to laugh, “I’m afraid one day, after a good nap lasting a year or two, I’ll find a beautiful lady sitting in your chair in that bookstore of yours…”

“Let’s hope my body haven’t heard you,” the angel lowered his voice as they reached the thoroughfare, “or, I’m afraid, it will possess your words as a request for changing.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Nice experience,” Crowley tried really hard to hold his laughter.

“Stop it, you… Wait. What did you… No, no, cut it out. I don’t want to know.”

“You _blushed!_ I-I just can’t believe it!” Crowley couldn’t bear it anymore and laughed, “Oh hold on. This restaurant across the street looks pretty nice and crowded, which means there are witnesses to protect me from being killed by you. Asss,” he hissed, “violently assss it’ssss even posssible.”


	4. The restaurant

“You've met each other before, right?” asked Aziraphale after taking a seat. They chose the table in the corner of the restaurant where it was dark and relatively quiet even though the restaurant itself was crowded. Just one little thought, and nobody around could actually hear them speaking. “I mean, you and that demon.”

"Yeah, kinda," Crowley looked briefly through the menu and sighed thoughtfully. "Really, how could he be so desperate to summon him?"

"Wh… Oh," Aziraphale was surprised. "You care about the—"

"No. It's interest only."

"So you're interested in him?"

"Not really. I just don't see any possibility for such a child to be in such despair."

"The despair made him ‘such a child,’ I believe. Something happened to him. You can't actually know, I’ll tell you. A few years ago his family was killed. It was a scandal. Their mansion had been burned, and it was believed that this child had been killed, too. But he came back later. With the butler."

"You catch up on news? Really?"

"Could you please stop teasing me?"

"I'm just trying to reimburse the years I’ve missed," he said before making an order, for a waiter had come. Aziraphale ordered something quietly, not letting Crowley hear, and Crowley thought unwillingly that the angel had been ashamed.

"So, you say he was missing?" the demon asked curiously.

"Yes. Not for a long period, I think… I don't remember, it was all so fast. At first, the murder, and then, after what felt like a week, he returned. Nobody knew where he had been, it has never been told. And of course, much more time had passed but for me it hadn't. Maybe it was a month or even more, you know me, I never notice the time passing."

Crowley squinted suspiciously and pointed his finger at Aziraphale.

"Sleep."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You were sleeping then, too."

"I wasn't."

"Why would you otherwise want to know what had happened? You don't usually care about such things as murders, _I know you_ , as you’ve said, angel."

"Okay, I surrender, yes, I took a nap. A-few-weeks-or-so-long nap. So what? I simply decided to try it."

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"No!" he exclaimed.

"You liiiiiked it, you can't fool me."

Crowley thanked the waiter and poured some wine into his glass. Aziraphale’s order was not familiar to him. There were many things beside a bottle.

"I'm not trying to fool you, Crowley. It was nice to have a rest, but next time I’d rather go to the seaside or something… maybe I’ll even write a book..."

“It will stay in the shop forever,” Crowley whispered without a second thought before emptying his glass. Aziraphale opened his mouth resentfully but didn’t say anything at first. The demon looked at him. “Oh, I’m—”

Aziraphale shut his mouth and reached for the second bottle. He truly took umbrage. Without looking at Crowley, he filled a shot glass.

“What’s this?”

A toothful was the answer. Crowley sighed deeply and took a beautiful slotted spoon to feast his eyes on it.

“Alright,” the angel said abruptly. “The gospel truth.”

“I’m sorry, angel.”

“Nah,” he poured some more and drank instantly. Then he winced and breathed out.

“A—… Hold on! You’ll get drunk too fast if you go on like this.”

“Get lost, I’m here for that,” and he drank another one. And another, wincing each time.

“Is it even tasty?” Crowley curled his lips in displeasure, looking at the glass with some green liquid left.

“It is savoury. And strong. You won’t like it. Like the book I would write.”

"Oh please! Don't be so snuffy. I didn’t mean it… And, seriously, you haven’t seen me for a century—”

“Eighty four years.”

“...you’ve just met a nine-year-old child—”

“Thirteen, he is,” and there was another shot.

“...with a Faustian bargain, _for fuck’s sake let me finish,_ and we also have a cherub runnin’ all around England and harvesting souls in cooperation with the loony Reaper…”

“Well, we don’t know it for sure. But you’re right, these two pieces fit too well to be just a coincidence,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. It’s just… you know, sitting in the shop all day long without any immortal nearby except for the bloody authorities… It’s not killing me, but it’s… pretty hard. I can’t see mortals like this child falling in the depths of… of sins, of deformity… And have no control 'ver them."

He buried his face in his hands desperately, whereas Crowley took his glass and smelled the liquid in it.

“Ohhh, what a tough slipslop you have here! I’m not surprised it hasss blown your mind, Curly...” he mumbled, watching Aziraphale chewing on his lower lip in some sort of dejection.

“I’m not drunk yet, Cr… Crr… Crowley. I’m jus' disappointed because of all this… industrial… progressing… stuff. It makes people lazy. Lazier. It makes 'em — and you, by the way — horribly cruel.”

“Wh- what? I’m not cruel. At least, not _horribly_ cruel.”

“Yeah, sorry, that is… that is.”

“That is what?”

“Yer nature,” Aziraphale wanted to take the bottle again but Crowley snatched it first.

“No you won't! Listen to me. Don’t you think we’re too old for all this ‘you’re a bad bad demon’ stuff? We kinda sorted it out in Eden.”

There wasn’t a second shot glass so he took Aziraphale’s with a fast move and poured some liquid in it.

“You reeeeeally won’t like it,” was a hopeless comment.

The demon shrugged and gulped.

“Oh _God_ ,” he could only say. He put the glass on the table with a loud bang and exhaled with a wheeze.

Aziraphale waited a bit, then reached his unsteady hand to wipe some remnants of the liquid off the corner of Crowley’s lips.

“I often forget ‘bout who you are, but meeting thman, Sebastian... That’s your nature. 'Treally is, ye see. You can’t escape it.”

“Cause they’ll kick my ass if I do,” Crowley answered when the taste felt a bit less terrible. “ _Oh God._ My throat’s on fire, how do you drink that?!”

“You’ve had a fair warning,” the angel wanted to retrieve the glass but Crowley hissed.

“Sssstop. Wait. That’sssss enough for now. For both of us, actually.”

"Mkay,” the angel sighed disappointedly. “Letssssee… do you want a brief report of what happened?”

“No, forget it. I doubt thwas anything important, and London seems pretty the same. But… eh… who’s on the throne?”

“Victoria. Since nineteen… thirty… something. Granddaughter of George III. ”

“Erm,” his face stretched. “How… how old’s she?”

“Seventy, I guess.”

Crowley winced.

“No prejudice, please.”

“I hate powerful women since Bloody Mary. D’you like her? Victoria, I mean.”

Aziraphale glared at him. That meant a yes. Crowley moaned.

“Why did I've to wake up? Like, I don’ave any orders or whatever. Was it so hard to wait a dozen years more?” he leaned his cheek on his palm, handing Aziraphale the glass.

“Pre-sen-ti-ment?” the angel uttered slowly smiling mischievously to the demon.

“Tsk. What do you need this for?” he took the slotted spoon again.

“‘S absinthe. Lemme…”

The angel poured a little absinthe, gently took the spoon from Crowley’s hand and placed it on the glass. Then he took a sugar cube and placed it on the spoon.

“Why so complicated?” asked Crowley while Aziraphale was carefully pouring iced water.

The angel didn’t answer and, when finished, moved the glass with the tips of his fingers closer to Crowley.

“Me?”

“Ye asked.”

“Maybe that was a rheto—”

Aziraphale hushed and lifted the glass, some liquid spilling because of the sharp movement.

“Okay, okay. But won’t you have problems for doin’ such a bad thing as makin’ me—”

The angel moved his hand towards Crowley's face, tilting the glass and making the demon inevitably drink.

"This'd be better," Aziraphale muttered softly and moved back.

He was right.

“Can handle it,” Crowley admitted after smacking his lips. “You seem… skilled.”

Aziraphale murmured something unclear, pouring another serving for himself.

“Pardon?”

“No,” Aziraphale briefly looked at the demon as if in fear, his hand moving clumsily and some absinthe spilling, “nevermind.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you are not fallen yet…”

There was an awkward silence then. Aziraphale had vacantly stared at his own elegantly manicured hands before he took the glass with his left hand and wiped the drops of absinthe off the table with his right thumb and licked it clean.

“S'times I won'er how ye’r not returned up there yet,” and he slowly drank half the glass.

“So,” the demon started. He seemed to ignore Aziraphale’s mockery. Or even maybe he hadn't heard it. “Your ‘hard working’ is readin’ and drinkin’ absinthe?”

“Maybe. But that’s… I… y'see, run my shop and… stuff."

"You're done already," the demon giggled and took the glass to drink the rest of absinthe.

"So're you," Aziraphale smiled stupidly and leaned his head on his hands.

"We gotta stop."

"Nah," he waved Crowley away and took the glass again.

The demon sighed, thinking, “ _is he going to stop at all_?”

Aziraphale was preparing another shot, with his hands terribly shaking, while Crowley was looking carelessly at the other visitors of the restaurant. He thought it was a nice idea to miracle them unnoticeable for everyone at the beginning of that absurd evening. He also thanked Aziraphale for being quiet — a bit hysterical, of course, but still — even when the latter was very drunk.

"I need to… toleaveforamoment," Crowley got up, feeling nausea coming. The next moment he realized that he was boozier than he had thought. Holding his head, he tottered to the restroom. He saw everything moving and wanted to make his mind a bit clearer, so he stared at the mirror and tried not to vomit and to concentrate on all the alcohol running through his vessels. "Goddammit," he snapped, when failed.

After a fraction of a second his reflection changed into _something_ , and he heard a voice.

"GOOD MORNING, CROWLEY."

_Oh not you—_

"Hi," he answered darkly.

"HOPE YOU HAD A SWEET DREAM. WE'VE GOT A GOOD NEWS FOR YOU."

"New mission?"

"RIGHT, CROWLEY. VERY BIG DEAL."

"Okay," was a hopeless reply. And then Crowley felt a cold thought sucking into his mind. He shivered. It was about Aziraphale’s cherub. And it hadn't been just one fortress but the full set of villages.

"IF THEY WANT TO PLAY ALONE AND REFUSE TO HELP US, DEAL WITH THEM."

"B-but I'm just the—" he tried to object. There was no use.

"DO IT, CROWLEY. YOU'VE WASTED TOO MUCH TIME ON USELESS SLUMBER, WE NEED A PAYBACK. WERE NICE BUT GOT SPOILED A BIT, FIX IT. DON’T SCREW IT UP, CROWLEY."

And then it was quiet. Crowley sighed and felt spirit leaving his blood unwillingly.

"FuckinghellfuckingfuckingFUCKINGHELL!" he yelled and wished the mirror to scatter, which immediately happened.

When he returned, Aziraphale was under the weather. And sober. It didn’t require being a genius to guess what the angel had been told while Crowley had been speaking to his boss.

"I hate them," Aziraphale only said.

"You're not alone here."

"You pay, you remember?" the angel stood up, took his top hat and looked at Crowley sadly. "When was the last time we had a proper binge without any interruption?"

"Long time ago."

"Like, what, three or four centuries?"

Crowley sighed and miracled the bills to be paid and everyone to be informed about it. He didn’t care if Aziraphale had forgotten about the notes given to him, it didn’t matter. He obviously would still owe a dinner to the angel, it mattered only just a bit more.

"Are we together in this shit?" Crowley asked when they left the restaurant and headed back to the bookshop.

"It depends on what you’ve been told."

"To kill it if it doesn't want to come to our side. And you?"

"I just have to get rid of it. How do they imagine this?” he flung his arms up. “I'm a bloody darn Principality! Even if you don't care about such things, it's a fail from the start!"

“And Undertaker…” he tried to speak calmly but Aziraphale could hear the distinct panic in his voice. “If the Reaper’s up to this, we’re… well… we’re screwed.”

“As always, when everything is nice, some bad thing like that comes,” the angel said softly, “Okay. No need to panic. I’m sure we can handle it… somehow. I mean, if they gave us these assignments… they think we’re capable of it.”

“Oh please! You don’t think so, do you?”

Aziraphale was somewhat disappointed, for his effort to soothe Crowley had failed. The demon was afraid, while the angel was angry, and it wasn't a nice mixture. He had to get rid of Crowley's fear because the anger was something he himself was perfect at shaking off.

“Don’t give up so easily. Seriously, don’t.” He saw the dark look Crowley gave him and tried once again to cheer him up a little bit. “The cherub may be weak as he’s now on no one’s side. He’s stuck in the middle, probably, here, on Earth. Try to think rationally. We’re professionals. Sort of."

Crowley didn’t seem to be convinced, but at least he relaxed a little bit.

“Alright. Alright. We’re in this together, after all. Do you still feel that ‘presence’ you’ve mentioned?”

Aziraphale stopped for a second trying to concentrate on his feelings and then shook his head.

“No, deary, I’m afraid, I don’t. I wish I tracked him down back then, but I...” he shrugged, “well, I hoped someone else would deal with him. Speaking of which… I wonder why _they_ … tsk. Okay, nevermind, more trade secrets someone like you doesn’t need to know about.”

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Yes, angel, the most important thing right now is one of your, um, colleagues or maybe bosses — doesn’t matter — sneaking somewhere nearby to eavesdrop, and who even cares about the bloody cherub devastating a village after another? Oh, and don’t look at me like that,” he laughed nervously as turned around and saw the shocked face of Aziraphale, who was still standing in the middle of an alley, “seriously, it’s not the first time you try to hide their plans from me when it's not needed at all. And you usually don’t succeed in this, let’s be honest. But don’t worry — as I’ve said, I don’t give a… eh, I don’t care. But you’re a horrible liar.” And, before Aziraphale could say something inappropriate and, probably, a little bit impolite, he added, “So where do we start?”

“Sometimes I really hate you,” the angel sighed as Crowley haled him by the sleeve of his coat.

“And sometimes you find me adorable, because I am adorable after all… c’mon, clever boy, let’s think about it and get to your shop as soon as possible, it’s freakin’ cold outside!”

“Oh, yes, I keep forgetting you’re a reptile… no offence. Please, set my sleeve free, I’m pretty sure both me and my coat can find a way to our shop by ourselves. Thank you. Now… let’s see. What information do we have?”

“Er… none. Except for this Undertaker stuff, of course, but it’s probably none of our business.”

“And what if it is? Adult, armed soldiers disappeared in the middle of the night—”

“People disappear every day,” Crowley didn’t let Aziraphale finish his thought, “seriously, it would be dumb to lose our precious time on this… investigation. We need to find something else. Something about other villages. I wasn't told which particularly but I know there are a few of them.”

“Well, as far as I understand, it is the only odd thing we have here. People leaving. Not much, to be frank. And the cherub is somewhere close to London. If there'd been something else, we would've been told.”

Crowley grumbled something inarticulate but probably about the heads being assholes that wouldn’t provide the necessary information _which they had for fuck’s sake_ and fell silent.

“It won’t take much time, you know, to go there and check if there’s something… ethereal,” Aziraphale insisted. “The fortress, I mean. And what’s wrong with you anyway? Why do you ignore the idea of possible alliance between Undertaker and the cherub? Or the idea of the cherub being related to the disappearance? You were okay with that ten minutes ago.”

He actually knew the answer. _The boy and his butler. They could also be responsible. Who knows what those Faustian weirdos are capable of._

“Do you even know which fortress did the child mean?” Crowley asked after a long silence when they finally reached the bookstore. Aziraphale got the keys from his pocket.

“Well… maybe I don’t,” he admitted, opening the door and letting Crowley in, “but I have a few ideas. And I have maps, and…”

“...and a lot of free time to waste,” the devil said, sitting comfortably right on the counter. “Listen, I see what’re you trying to do here, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Aziraphale. Seriously, why don’t you ask _yours_ where to search exactly? They like you more than mine like me.”

Crowley tried hard to sound persuasive. Aziraphale didn’t react at his objection and opened the drawer with literature for travellers, which wasn’t very popular amongst his customers. Crowley realized it by the thick layer of dust on the books.

“Because they don’t know. The cherub’s vanished from their sight, I’ve already told you that. And, actually…” he exhaled and said after a small hesitation, “if you are here to disturb me from my mission, I-I really don’t want to, but I have to ask you to leave. You see, we’re not supposed to work together. And if you don’t like my strategy, then go and do what you think you have to. “

“Ooooh, I love when you use your ‘dark Aziraphale’ voice!” Crowley giggled awkwardly, dazed by the angel’s strict tone, “ugh, it seems like I have no choice. No need to worry, my friend. We’re in this together, as I said, and I believe that thing will refuse, so I'll have to discorporate it.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said softer with a relief he didn’t even bother to disguise, taking a map — _a surprisingly modern one_ , Crowley thought — out of the drawer. “Good. Now let’s see what we can do here,” and he unfolded the map.


	5. At the Manor

 

“So… that man from the bookstore, Aziraphale or what he’s called, told me you can’t defeat the fallen angel. Why would it be so?” Ciel asked when he and his butler got into the carriage they hired to take them back to the earl’s London mansion.

“I’m afraid he may be right, young master,” Sebastian nodded, taking Ciel’s warm winter gloves and putting them on the pillow next to him. “To be short, there’s a strict hierarchy in the world of immortal creatures. The whole idea of it is not about leadership or subordination, but about power and demonic — or angelic — strength. I am a marquis, which basically means I am stronger than that serpent Crowley and the angel, Aziraphale, separate and, perhaps, together. But the fallen cherub might be a problem, because he is way stronger than me.”

“Does it mean you will die if you lose the battle?”

 _“Does it mean you won’t eat my soul in such case?”_ he certainly meant. Sebastian smiled mysteriously.

“Well, my lord, if you command me to destroy this creature, I will have to do it anyway, as the butler of Phantomhive family,” he said cunningly, looking in the earl’s eyes sharply.

Ciel handled his gaze with composure and said contemptuously, “Tsk. Of course you will. It would be a horrible disgrace for you to fail my order and die before I succeed in my revenge, huh?”

“Yes, my lord. It certainly would be.”

The boy didn’t say anything else and leaned back on a soft pillow behind him. He didn't know — and didn't need to know — that the only actual _death_ as humans see it for such as Sebastian was starvation.

“Do you want me to ask the coachman to give you a plaid?” his butler asked. “If you want to take a nap, we have half an hour spare.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just trying to understand… What do _you_ think, Sebastian? Can we trust those two clowns?”

“Are you asking me for advice, my lord? I thought you don’t like your pawns acting by themselves.”

“It’s not advice I seek for. I need you as the source of information about the immortal creatures. Is an angel capable of lying?”

“I’m _a demon_ and I’ve never lied to you.”

“This doesn’t mean you cannot. And you don’t lie _to me_ because that is what I’ve once ordered you. He is another case. Should I trust someone who is an angel, who is associated with purity, and chastity, and honesty?”

“This association doesn’t mean that he cannot be impure, unchaste, dishonest, and that he cannot lie, my master.”

“I see,” Ciel frowned. “There is no actual need in that rubbish. Sides, and so forth. You’re all the same liars and dissemblers. And so,” he added before Sebastian could get a word in edgeways, “am I.”

“Anyways, I think that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are responsible for the incident in the fortress. They must be not powerful enough to commit such a crime as massive kidnapping.”

“Then destiny has an interesting sense of humour to push us together.” Ciel sighed.

They didn’t talk anymore on their way to the mansion, and rather soon young Phantomhive fell half-asleep. A few minutes later his butler gave him a vague look and shook his head.

No. He wouldn’t be able to destroy such a powerful creature as a fallen cherub or just physically survive the fight without following months of rehabilitation or need to savour dozens and dozens of souls. Not even in his real form. And if he lost the child’s soul… well, he didn’t know what exactly would happen to Ciel, but he definitely wouldn’t get away alive. And it was never in Sebastian’s manner to let his prey go or give it to someone else.

He woke his master up when they reached the mansion and helped the drowsy boy to leave the carriage.

“What time is it?” Ciel asked with a yawn, when Sebastian handed him the gloves left by his master back in the carriage, “I’m hungry.”

“It’s almost eight o’clock, my lord. If you wait fifteen minutes, I’m sure, I can bring you…  oh.”

“Oh?” the boy looked at his butler discontentedly, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sorry, but you have guests, my lord. I can feel the presence of Her Majesty’s servants — earl Grey and mister Phipps. And their carriage is right around the corner.”

“Oh, just perfect!” Ciel sighed, but held himself back from complaining too much, “I’m too tired for seeing those two… but I’m afraid I have no choice. It must be something important. I’ll meet them, and you… just make sure Baldroy won’t spoil our tea by burning the teapot, and come to us. I will need you to be there when they finish with the usual polite chatter and start the real talking.”

Sebastian nodded with an insidious smile and hurried to the kitchen through the back door, while his master headed to the main entrance.

“Young Phantomhive,” earl Grey said with his usual inscrutable smile, when Ciel entered the library where the Queen’s servants had been waiting for him, “It is good to finally see you. We thought you were in your main mansion,” it was obviously a lie, Ciel thought, “but decided to visit this house first, and, luckily for us, we met here your lovely maid, who told us you’d decided to stay here for a little while.”

“I’m also glad to see you, earl Grey, and you, mister Phipps,” Ciel nodded frostily not even bothering to shake their hands or anything. “It’s always a pleasure to have guests like you, even if they come uninvited.”

He knew it was impolite, but, frankly, he didn’t care, not at all. Meeting Aziraphale and Crowley somehow made him feel exhausted, so all he wanted was to get rid of the visitors as soon as possible.

Phipps raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything to his observation. He wasn’t even capable of it, because he was nothing but a servant, even though he served to Her Majesty. Earl Grey’s smile became constrained.

“Well, anyway, I wonder what brought you here, gentlemen?” Ciel asked when Sebastian appeared in the doorway with a modest smile on his face.

"What happened to your arm, lord Phantomhive? Are you alright?" Phipps asked suddenly. Ciel's arm was still a little bit red, but there was no obvious burn. Still, the boy was unable to stop himself from hiding the injured hand behind his back, away from Phipps' eyes.

"One of my servants spilled the tea. It's nothing to worry about,” he said a pinch brusquely and smiled, "thank you for your concern."

"Sebastian, who would have thought you can be awkward," as fake as usual, Earl Grey laughed. Sebastian, standing still behind his master, shook his head.

“It wasn't me, earl,” he said, a faint smile steady on his face.

“I am sure of it, you are the best of your kind. The poor servant is probably dead by now for hurting your master, isn’t she?”

“I wish she was, sir,” was the sharp answer, and earl Grey chuckled. Even though by 'she' Charles probably meant Maylin, Sebastian was definitely talking about the two he and his master had met today.

Ciel raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Baldroy saved them from the awkward silence by bringing them tea. Few moments later earl Grey took a sip of perfectly made (by Sebastian, not Baldroy) tea.

“We brought you some news you may find interesting, lord Phantomhive. I see, our dear Phipps was worried about your hand, but if you are sure you feel fine…”

“Indeed, I am.”

“Then we can go straight to the business,” he took an envelope from his chest pocket and reached his hand. Ciel opened the letter immediately, not bothering himself with waiting for introduction.

The accurate exquisite handwriting read,

_“Dear Ciel, the soldiers disappearing from the Isle of Grain appeared to be just a part of a series of events that provoke grave concern in my heart. For the last two weeks, five villages suffered from an unknown enemy coming from the North Sea, the first of which is on the Isle of Sheppey, and the so far last is the Isle of Grain, which you’ve already been informed about. For the reasons yet unknown, the inhabitants have disappeared, each and every of them leaving their homes. There were found no signs of struggle, and it seems, according to the report, that people woke up and simply left, which is obviously impossible. Slowly, this plague is moving towards London, threatening a strike that would be a catastrophe no one of us wants to witness. My dear boy, visit these villages, find the culprit responsible, return the beloved citizens to their beds, and stop further devastation.”_

Ciel folded the paper and stared at Sebastian vacantly. “Seems like,” he uttered after a few inappropriate seconds of boring a hole in the butler’s face with his glance, “we have to depart soon again.”

He turned to the Queen’s servants and, apologising for being too exhausted to continue, asked them to leave and told he had understood everything he had to do. The two had always annoyed him because of their _constant_ presence no matter where, starting from the murder in his own manor. If they were going to wander around that time, nosing out, it would interfere the case in the worst manner possible, for hiding the angelic nature of the casualties would be harder with every next second of them being nearby.

“We shouldn’t let them be anywhere near us this time. Her Majesty doesn’t need to know or even have the slightest hint of what really is going on there, or we also will be threatened. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, my lord. If we are recognised as the members of the supernatural bargain, your design will become impracticable,” Sebastian answered without the usual smile. He obviously saw there had come too many threats for both of them. Crowley and his Principality or whatever it was friend weren’t quite a menace, but the cherub and disclosure of Sebastian’s origin would jeopardise his plans.

“We must do something, the sooner the better. Pack up, I’d like to leave tonight. We have a lot to do.”

Sebastian looked surprised.

“Aren’t you tired, young master? It is late now, perhaps we’d better…”

“We are leaving tonight,” Ciel snapped. “I don’t want to sit here, waiting for the situation to worsen. I can nap in the carriage, my sleep doesn’t matter to any extent when we are endangered with exposure. And, listen, we really are in danger, so if you expect those two to stand aside not trying to find out some scandalous gen about the Queen’s Watchdog, you are so very wrong!”

Ciel was too annoyed even for his usual self, Sebastian thought, still abashed by the sudden outburst. _“Is he really that afraid that we will be recognised as the Faustian dealers? Or is it something different? The people,”_ he sighed. _“Peculiar creatures. Maybe it’s just his age?”_

He was speaking to himself — without uttering a word, of course, for the master could hear him from the adjacent room — while packing the earl’s few outfits for the road. Ciel had said there was no need to be posh as it could draw unnecessary attention. There was definitely something going on in the child’s mind, and Sebastian felt he needed to find a way of coping with that.

When he finished packing and came to take the earl to the carriage, he found the boy fast asleep in the chair with the Queen’s letter unfolded in his hands.

“Young master,” the demon said quietly, not really aiming at waking Ciel up. _“This kid…”_

He bent closer to Ciel, breathing in the scent of the boy, trying to find something that perhaps was different — and there was it, the odour had changed slightly, becoming more like one of the gentlemen that Ciel had made business deals with. _“Here it is. His age, indeed. Puberty,”_ he smirked and examined the _adolescent’s_ face. How could he not see the shift before? The shapes of the face that used to be soft became just ever so slightly more edgy. Soon there would be stubble on the young chin, reflecting the time Sebastian had spent on the bargain not succeeding in fulfilling his duty.

“The hell you’re staring at?” was the sleepy mumble as the boy suddenly opened his eyes.

“Your face has changed,” the demon answered frankly, feeling a little bit confused by the unexpected changes in his master’s body. “You’re becoming older. Though don't grow up,” he couldn't help but mock the boy.

“Get lost. Is everything ready?” Ciel stood up quickly and took his coat from the chair manchette.

“It is. We can go as soon as you say so, young master.”

“Fine. Let's deal with this disappearance case, I want it to go already.”

“Where should we go first?”

Ciel had pondered it for a few moments, then put the coat on before Sebastian could even react, and put the letter in the inside pocket.  “The Isle of Grain is closer, but the Isle of Sheppey is the first village that suffered. I can't really choose.”

“It would make more sense to start from the beginning, I believe. In any case we’ll spend the same amount of time, so there is no need to rush.”

“And considering we can’t know if we’ll even find anything… Yes, let’s go chronologically. I wonder if you’re able to find any traces of something… unnatural.”

“It really depends on what exactly happened there. I can easily catch the presence of other entities, but there are limits even for someone like me.”

“Limits, huh?”

“I can… well, I suppose the human equivalent for this is the verb ‘smell’... only physical presence of someone of my kind, or of the angelic origins. I can’t feel magical power, especially if much time has passed, unless it’s someone extremely powerful.”

“But are you capable of detecting traces of someone as strong as, you know, that cherub?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer the question, but his answer was interrupted by Baldroy, who had appeared in the hallway right on their way.

“I’m sorry, young master, but we can’t let you leave the house just now!” he yelled, arms crossed on his chest.

“Oh? And why’s that, may I ask?” Ciel asked curiously. Sebastian sighed.

“That’s b-b-b-because you’re too tired to travel, my lord!” Maylin stood next to the cook, awkwardly spreading her hands to the sides to block the doorway.

Then there was Finnian.

“In your age it’s very dangerous to work so much! You may fall sick, or…have problems with your bones, or… never grow up… or something!” he said, blushing at the end of the last line.

This was enough for Sebastian’s armour of calmness to crack. He chuckled ironically, looking at his young master, who had frozen at the start of that ridiculous lecture.

“Isn’t that touching, my Lord? Your servants are so thoughtful,” the butler murmured to his master with a smirk. The “growing up” issue, which young Phantomhive hated so much, was indeed a very hot topic that day and oh, how pleasant it was for Sebastian to see his young master so irritated about it.

“I appreciate your… devotion,’’ Ciel managed to utter finally, “but I have numerous places to attend. Despite my age, I am still the one and only Phantomhive heir, and it is my duty to help the Crown with urgent cases, like the one I’m working on right now. You, of all people, should be aware of it. Please, let us go. We are in a hurry.”

“For us there is nothing more urgent than our master’s wellbeing,” the cook said.

“It is an order. Let go,” as Ciel started to lose his patience, red spots appearing on his white cheeks.

“But, young master,” Finny started.

“Get off the way!” The boy almost shrieked, making the servants puzzle, and pushed Finny aside. The gardener couldn’t resist his master’s determined hand even though he was way stronger than the young boy.

The servants silently watched their master leaving. Sebastian followed him without hesitation, still smiling. Human puberty was indeed a funny thing to deal with.


	6. Road to the Isle of Sheppey

 

Despite his words, Ciel wasn't asleep. Wrapped in a plaid, he was staring at the passing lights, and people, and buildings, as the brougham carried him and his devil butler down the Surrey Street. They both hadn't yet said a word to each other. Ciel wasn't in a good mood, and for some reason Sebastian bit his tongue and refrained from further mocking. Watching his master, Sebastian was thinking of how to deal with the boy considering how easily the latter was irritated.

_ “Is it really that normal to outburst so rapidly?” _

The boy had been quite impulsive before, but such flares of anger had never been present — until then. It could interfere with the work, the demon thought, and disturb Ciel’s persona also. There had to be found a way to soothe such behaviour, and the sooner the better.

Under the plaid, Ciel hugged himself with his thin hands, all of a sudden feeling lonely. The presence of the demon didn't ease anything, more than that, it felt even worse when he was around. Ciel thought about how he had nothing apart from the beast who would have certainly betrayed him if there had been a tiniest chance, of which the case with Ciel being frightened because of the ‘curse’ of the German forest was a proof. The realisation flushed over him — all he had was the monster that only pretended to be chained, and in fact just wanted the soul of the boy, to put it in his thin long-fingered elegant black-nailed hands, and savour it.

Lizzy, the thought came with a flash. Her ‘love’ was probably just a habit. You eventually and unwillingly become used to the face that has been around for your entire life. And, blood is thicker than water. They were relatives, and you have to love your relatives. This would pass in the end, when Lizzy would grow up a bit. She would see that Ciel wasn't the one worthy, that he was involved in an unholy demonic contract, that he was nothing but a dirty liar. That he wasn’t himself. She would go.   
Same with his servants. You have to love your master when they're a child, when they seem fragile, and weak, and kind, and—

No, he smiled askew, he had never seemed so. Fragile and weak—yes, but he wasn't anything close to kind, and everybody around him must have known that. Must was the key word. Was it self-deception or just blindness, he didn't know, but for some reason Lizzy and his servants undoubtedly had not been able to see his true nature yet.

London was dim, with fog slowly covering the streets, filling the smallest passageways, crawling in the open windows. Probably it was going to rain, which the boy could say he adored due to the right extent of sadness and a novel tendency for reflection. The thoughts and emotions were boiling inside him, and the sensation that followed set his teeth on edge. He wasn't used to thinking about something not urgent and not related to business or the dark underground London work.   
He was afraid, suddenly, of being alone.

Ciel saw the harlots in the street, one of them barely older than himself, and cringed.  
  
_“Wasn't it for the sectarians, I would also be there, wouldn't I?”_ _  
_  
Sebastian noticed the terrified eyes of his master, the look he had sent to the group of boy prostitutes, and tried to guess what were the thoughts swinging in the child’s—the adolescent's mind. The other had never paid any attention to the whores, why would he do so then? Was that connected to the sexuality blooming inside him, both his mind and body changing?

The demon sighed, yet another time that evening. There were probably no books regarding such a delicate and “inappropriate” topic, thanks to Victoria, so he had to find another way. Maybe a doctor could help him. Sieglinde, he thought with a smirk, she probably had proper knowledge in the area.

“What's so funny?” Ciel uttered bitterly.

“I am thinking about the specific area of human anatomy, young master.”

“And?”

“As you’ve asked me to be frank, I wonder if there are any sources of literature or any other possible kind where I can find information on how to deal with the puberty of yours.”

Ciel’s eyes widened.

“I know,” the demon continued, “that particular physical changes are engaged, but it is also known that the one going through puberty has  _ thoughts  _ and  _ ideas _ that are disturbing for one but have no adequate base for them. And also that one becomes easily irritated.”

Suddenly, the boy didn't get angry, but started pondering on the words said to him with a frown.

“Is it… true?”

“I will have to ask a doctor for advice, but I think this indeed happens. The sense of loneliness, feeling distant from everyone, feeling of not being in the right place…” he gestured while speaking, and Ciel thought for a second that the demon could read his mind, but that was impossible. 

“It may be harmful for my image,” Ciel said. “The person in my position can’t be a hysterical teenager. I have to control myself better.”

“If you succeed, it will be just wonderful.”

“Leave your teasing,” he sighed. “Okay. When we come to the Isle, we’ll have to stay somewhere. I hope there is an inn of some kind. Otherwise, we’ll have to sleep in the streets.”

“That would be a shame for me as a butler of yours.”

“You didn’t protest at the Noah’s Arc.”

“The conditions were different then.”

“I was thinking… What if these two come? They were telling about ‘the heads’ of theirs, so is it possible for them to receive an order to follow the cherub?”

“We still don’t know for sure if that angel is involved. But the Undertaker role in all this is very likely.”

“What would be his goals? Is he just insane, or is there something deeper to that?”

“We can’t really know that. Young master, it’s late already, I think you should rest.”   
  
“Yeah… Or I just won’t be useful tomorrow,” with these words, Ciel tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes.

The road was going to be long.


End file.
